


Timeless

by vir_tanadahl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-12-24 21:18:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12021186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vir_tanadahl/pseuds/vir_tanadahl
Summary: Isera Lavellan is living in modern Thedas completing her research on plants when her research takes her to a place in the Solasan Mountain range. The discovery of a strange glowing mirror takes her to a world she has never known before where she meets someone she never thought existed.Fen'harel (Solas) x Lavellan





	1. Chapter 1

_‘Isera Lavellan is a world renowned botanist, who has traveled across Thedas in search of undiscovered plants and researching their properties…'_ Isera's glaze over the news article that is in her hand. She is on the front cover of a prominent magazine that is sitting, overpriced, in an airport newsstand. She is about to fly to her final location for her research in the northern part of Nevarra.

She rolls her eyes as she places the magazine back onto the rack before purchasing her overpriced water.

Isera mentally recounts her recent expedition in the southern Arbor Wilds as she pays for her drink. She believes she found a different variation of Andraste's Grace, with larger petals that are golden rather than deep red. She walks away hoping her make-shift preservation techniques survive the plane ride. 

She makes her way to the gate where her plane is sitting waiting for the passengers to board. Isera puts her headphones as she sits down. The soft melody fills her ears as she slows her breathing. Traveling by air is not something she enjoys.

The melody is abruptly cut off with the blaring ringtone of an incoming call. Isera makes a soft grunt as she answers the phone. "Hello?" She murmurs as she stands up again and walks away from the sitting area.

"Lavellan! I have been trying to reach you all day." The voice of one of her dear friends, Dorian, fills her ears. "I told you to call me when you landed in Orlais and before you got on your final plane!" He tuts at her. They share the same office and became fast friends years ago when Isera first got her university job.

Dorian specializes in history, particularly of his home county of Tevinter.

"I'm sorry," Isera mutters. She is tired and wanted to be alone in the crowded airport. "I was going to call when I land in Nevarra." She admits wanting to avoid hurting his feelings. He worries about her when she goes into the wilderness for extended periods of time. One time, he offered to come with her, but Isera called him on his bluff. He hates camping.

She can hear him fussing on the other end. "I'm just tired." She adds.

"I know, I'm sorry. You know I just worry." He tuts once again. "At any rate, what area will you be in? I want to know where to send the search party if I don't hear from you." He asks.

Isera nods unconsciously. "I will be south of the Solasan Mountain range." She tells him as she rests the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she opens her water bottle. "I will be heading south to the southern ridge of the mountain range looking for the Prophet's Laurel. It's about a five-day hike to that area." She explains as she takes a drink of her water.

"Five days!" He shouts. "That is a long time to be out there on your own." He murmurs. Isera can see him now, twiddling his elegant pen between his fingers out of nervousness. "Why didn't you ask anyone to come with you? You could get hurt!" 

Isera smiles. "I will be fine!" She reassures him as she hears the flight attendants make their announcement. Boarding is about to start. "I have to go, Dorian. I will text when I land." She says as she begins walking to the gate.

"Remember I have your flight information, I know when you land, Isera." He gently reminds her, but she can hear the worried smile on his face.  She nods. "Bye, Pavus." She responds, her tone high and teasing before hanging up. She is lucky to have him as a friend.

Isera pops her headphone in as she walks towards the gate.

 

 

 

The plane ride to Nevarra is short, almost an hour in length. It is around 8pm when she arrives, and the sun is just beginning to set as she de-boards the plane. Isera smile as walks off the runway and towards baggage claim.

She turns off airplane mode and quickly calls Dorian. He is quick to answer. "Lavellan! How was the flight?" He asks. Isera rushes through the door that leads off of the tarmac. "It was all right. Short." She says as she rushes on.

"What are your plans for the evening, Pavus?" She asks him.

 "Oh, you know. Writing that research paper that is due soon, drinking some wine, playing some classic Tevinter music."

Isera shakes her head. "Are you going on a date?" She abruptly asks him. It isn't uncommon for Dorian to listen to Tevinter music while drinking wine and writing, but there is something in his voice that is hinting at something more.

 "Why, that may be a possibility, Lavellan." He hums clearly enjoying what is going on.

"I'm happy for you, Dorian!" Isera nearly exclaims. "You have to tell me all about him when I get home." She tells him. Dorian had a rough few years with his family and who catches his attraction. Isera had a front row seat to the pain Dorian endured and tried her best to support his choices. He hasn't spoken to his father in almost a year.

He chuckles. "I will, my dear." He tells her. "I am sure there is a lot that will need to be discussed." He hints. "I have been talking to him for a while now."

Isera arrives at baggage claim and sits on a nearby bench to wait for her items to appear. "Oh! I want to know more!" She exclaims with a smile. "Tsk. Tsk." Dorian tuts her. "You just have to wait." He tells her.

She rolls her eyes. "Fiiiine." She hums. "Make me wait five more days to hear about your date and potential love interest!" She can hear him snort over the phone. "I'll text you when I got the cabin and when I leave in the morning." She tells him.

"Be safe, Isera," Dorian whispers. Isera sighs. "You too, Dorian." She replies before hearing for the phone click. Once she retrieves her bag, Isera quickly heads to her cabin to sleep before her early track tomorrow.

 

 

 

Isera leaves before the sun is up, sending messages to Dorian, her brother, and mother telling them that she is about to head off for her five-day hike. She doesn't mind hiking or camping in the wilderness. She has been doing it on and off for the last few years of her life. She liked being alone and being one with nature.

But, by the third day, Isera was feeling lonely. Most of her hikes only lasted three days. She had heard rumors that there was more to find plant and specimen-wise farther in the Solasan mountains and she just had to search there.

Isera is laying on her stomach looking down a cliff into the ridge below. She can see what she believes is Arbor Blessing. She has one in her collection, but another one wouldn't hurt. The plant is only a few finger tips away…

She pulls herself back up, taking off her large backpack and keeping her herb and flower pouch on her waist as she slowly slides down the edge of the cliff to reach the plant. Her feet press against a jagged piece of stone. Isera grins as she slowly pulls the plant from the rock and tucks it gently into her pouch before reaching up to climb back over the ridge.

The rock supporting her breaks under pressure as she begins sliding down the cliff. Isera screams as her hands try helplessly to grab onto something as she continues to plummet down the side.

She hits the bottom of the cavern with a loud thud and the air knocked out of her body as she lands on her back. Isera gasps for air as she feels pain radiate her body. She lays there for a few minutes trying to catch her breath dizzy from her fall.

After a few moments, Isera pulls her body up from the ground, assessing the damage. The front of her body is covered in scrapes and bruises, and she may have injured her wrist during the fall, but she is surprisingly uninjured all things considered.

Isera drags herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her ankle as she steps forward. She is standing in front of a closed door that is stereotypical of old elven architecture. It is clear that no one has been down here for some time. 

"Woah…" Isera mutters as she limps up towards the door. She can see written elvish on the door as she takes her hand and brushing away the dust. She doesn't understand the words though.

 Isera presses against the door, and it barely moves, making a gritting noise against the pressure. She pulls back and tries again. "Come on," she murmurs as she uses her good leg to help apply pressure. It creaks open just enough for her to squeeze through.

Inside of the cavern is a room that was once golden and ornate. Isera can see that time has eaten away at the decoration, but it is clear that this place was once something grand and has not seen visitors in centuries. While the door was shut, parts of the ceiling have collapsed letting water corrode and destroy the area.

Isera limps along in awe of the space that has a sense of eeriness and beauty to it.

She wanders down a hall and limps into the first room she sees open. The room is filled with mirrors and clothing, only the mirrors are dark and do not reflect. Except for the one in the center of the chamber. It is glowing blue and is humming with energy. The room is undamaged.

 Isera pulls at one of the garbs hanging nearby. She is surprised just how smooth and silky the fabric is between her fingers, unaffected by the environment. It is well preserved, away from light and falling debris.

But she is far more interested in the glowing mirror.

Isera heads towards the mirror still ignoring the pain in her ankle as she walks up the steps. She has never seen anything like it before. ‘How is it glowing?' She wonders. Isera presses her hand against the mirror and jumps back as it ripples at her touch. "What the!?" She shouts.

Once the mirror is still, Isera reaches forward again, ignoring the voice in her head telling her to leave the ruins. She pushes her hand harder into the mirror watching as she surrounds her hand. "How is this even possible?" Isera wonders out loud. She watches her fingers in the mirror as she waves them around.

Isera tries to pull her hand back out, but it doesn't let her go. Whatever power is in the mirror begins pulling her into it.

"No, no, no!" Isera starts shouting as she fights against the energy pulling her in. "Stop!" She screams as she grips the edge of the mirror for dear life. She feels the energy, warm and tingling up her arm and down her body as she is dragged into the mirror.

 

 

 

Isera awakens on the ground in front of the mirror. She feels her body still aching from her fall as she rolls her head to the side. Suddenly the memories of what happened to her flood her consciousness as she sits up in a panic and in search of the mirror. The glass is dark and unreflective.

She reaches the face of the mirror, and it is cold and unresponsive. ‘Maybe it was a dream.' Isera thinks as she looks around. But it is clear that something is not right. This room was covered in dust, and now it is clean. Where once the walls were dull, Isera can see the sparkling of gold. 

Isera pulls herself to her feet as she limps towards the door as quietly as she can. She can hear movement behind the door. She can feel her heartbeat racing and her palms are sweating out of fear. She presses against the door as quietly as she can to peak out.

She sees elves walking along the corridor dressed in garbs like the one she saw moments before being pulled into the mirror. 

Isera pulls the door back in a panic realizing something is not quite right about what is going on. She spots hangers of clothing nearby and limbs over to them. She begins stripping down and pulling the dress over her head. ‘It's just a re-enactment.' She thinks to herself as she hides her clothing in a box.

But something is eating at her. Fear.

Once Isera believes the dress to be secured properly she quietly makes her way back out into the hall way and towards the entrance of the building. The people who are around her are speaking elvish. She tries hard to keep her eyes down, but she has never heard so many people speaking her language with such clarity.

For almost one hundred years, the humans had tried to silence the elves and their language. Only recently had the elves been allowed to worship their gods and speak their language once more.

Isera spots men in armor walking near her. She keeps her head low as she passes them.

She can hear the clanking of their armor stop as she walks by them. She begins picking up her pace ignoring the pain in her leg as she continues to walk. The guards start calling after her and then shouting when she does not stop. 

Isera turns to look back, panic filling her as she sees them draw their swords, she faces forward and begins to run full speed and out the door. The pain from her ankle sending hot strikes up her leg with every step. She ignores the gasps of people as she dashes out of doors and into the wildness with the guards hot on her tail.


	2. Chapter 2

Isera has waded through water and into a cave. She lost the guards within the grove, but barely. She knows that soon she will hear them moving. The water feels cold against her skin and feels good on her throbbing ankle.

She walks as far back into the cavern as she can, sits down, and waits in the water. Her mind is racing with thoughts about her situation. Isera once read a popular detective book for her philosophy course during her undergraduate career that read, ‘when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ And oh, how that saying is ringing in her mind.

Time travel is not possible. Magic is not feasible. Science and fact are true. But science does not support time travel nor magic and Isera is clearly not in 15:23 Modern, but more like Ancient times. The dress she is wearing is what the stories depict of the times. Isera is no archeologist nor historian, but her studies have resulted in her making connections in those who are experts in elven history.

Even if the ruin were being used as a set for reenactments, the staff would not have cleaned the set around her. They would have called for assistance. Or security would have stopped her from entering the building.

Isera sighs closing her eyes as she sinks lower into the water making bubbles as she releases the air from her nose. The surrealness of the situation is beginning to hit her as the adrenal slowly starts to fade. 

She repeats a mantra in her mind, ‘this is not real, this is not real.’

But the sound of clanking armor and splashing water brings her back to reality. Her eyes flutter open as she sinks further into the water trying to hide her body, waiting for the shadows of figures dance in the cavern. Isera can hear them talking but the words are gargled by the water in her ears. 

As the shadows make their way into the cave, Isera takes a deep breath and pushes her head under the water, hoping that the darkness of the cave will result in the guard overlooking her.

After a few moments of waiting and luck is not with her.

The guard pulls Isera up and out of the water by her hair, ignoring her screams of protests. She tries to claw her way out of the hold, but the armor is protecting the guard from her attacks. She is uselessly fighting against the grip.

Finger nails against metal only cause her pain. She is dragged out of the cave. The guard throws Isera onto water outside watching as other guards surround her to tie her up. Isera thrashes the whole time, fighting against the hold and binds. One guard got too close, and Isera caught the meaty part of his cheek in her teeth.

The man yells in pain and punches her in the face.

 

 

 

Isera feels the pain radiating from her temple as she tries to sit up. She is surrounded by darkness. She groans in pain as she pulls at her arms. They are cuffs around her wrist and a chain attached to the wall. However, all of her wounds have been tended. Isera instinctively tugs at the chain testing it.

 There is no give.

Isera sighs in frustration as she tries fruitlessly again before standing to her feet. The pain in her ankle is still there, but less so. She walks towards the barred door and peaks out, as much as she is able. She can see the shape of men standing guard, but she cannot hear them breathing or even moving. They stand eerily still.

She leans back when she hears footsteps and faint voices heading towards her. She stands to wait, holding her breath with each step closer trying to listen to what they are saying.

“Why bring me here, Felassan? Simply kill the trespasser.” The words are smooth and almost depict an annoyance, but it takes Isera a few seconds to catch all of the phrases. ‘High elvish?’ she thinks as she steps farther back into the cell.

“Trust me,” the other man responds. “You’ll want to see.” Isera presses her back against the wall, arms slightly out in front of her because of the cuffs. She watches as one man stops in front of her cell. He hums in approval. “And she is awake.” He grins motioning for the other man to see.

The man steps into sight, the long locks of hair pulled back into a low ponytail with golden cuffs decorating his head wearing the armor of gold. He stares at her with equal parts guard and curiosity. “Felassan, open the door.” He orders. 

Mirrored in golden armor, Felassan does as the man orders. The door unlocks and swings open with a loud creak. Isera takes a deep breath trying to mask her uncertainty and fear as the man wearing a small skull adorn in golden casting steps. He stares down at her, gray-blue eyes piercing hers appearing blind ones.

“She looks like one of them, yet you say she didn’t use magic to flee from the guards.” He says, standing in front of her with hands behind his back. “How do you know she simply isn’t blind and was lucky at eluding the guards for a time?” He asks.

Felassan steps into the cell. “Solas, I was part of the team who retrieved her. One does not just wander into a well-hidden cave in the grove. Bit me quite well, too.” He raises his hand to his cheek, violet eyes still on her.

Isera can’t help but snort, her eyes flickering to him to see the red welt on the side of his face and a small smirk forming on her face. Felassan harrumphs. “She is proud of her work. Look how smug she looks.” He says with a frown.

Solas turns to look at him with a disapproving look. “Evidently, she is not blind. But it doesn’t mean she is one of them.” He announces turning his attention back towards her. He grabs her wrist and pushes the sleeves up of her dress up. “Unmarked as well.”

Felassan shrugs manifesting a twig from somewhere and places it in between his teeth. “Only one way to find out, then.” He says and leans against the cell wall with a bored look on his face before looking at Solas again.

Solas hums as he glares down at her, his hand tight around her wrist. Isera feels the skin on wrist slowly heat up. It is comforting at first, something warm against the cool air of the cell, but it increasingly becomes uncomfortable as the warmth turns into burning and burning turns into searing pain.

Isera begins jerking her arm, trying to get away from the man who is inflicting pain on her, but his grip is hard. “Stop!” She shouts. “You’re hurting me!” Isera screams watching the man staring down at her waiting for something. “I said stop!” Isera yells again as she launches herself up, letting the top of her head collided with Solas’s nose. 

He releases his grip on her, a loud crack echoing the room as he steps back, covering his bloody face. He lets out a line of elvish curses as he steps away from her further. Felassan is slowly clapping his hands, laughing loudly with a grin on his face. “My, that was fantastic!” He giggles. “She’s a spirited one!” He adds.

Solas glares at him, wiping the blood from his face. “She is not one of them. There is no record of her arriving. She’s most likely a spy. Kill her.” He orders and swiftly departs the room.

Isera stares on in horror as Felassan looks at her apathetically and shrugs. “As you say,” He responds, pulling himself off of the wall and drawing his sword that lights on fire as it leaves the sheath. Isera slowly steps back, her back pressing against the wall as Felassan raises the sword.

Isera screams closing her eyes and raising her hands to protect herself as he brings down the sword, but the blade never meets her. After a few moments of fear, Isera slowly opens her eyes to see Felassan’s body sprawled against the wall just outside of her cell and the flaming sword on the floor nearby.

Solas returns moments later staring at her with interest. Felassan begins coughing and laughing weakly. “Told you.” He mutters out as he pats his chest with one hand.

Solas hums, still staring at her. “Perhaps she will be useful after all.” He states as he turns to walk away. “Have her wounds tended to and provided her with a room. Guards at all times.” He orders.

After recovering from whatever happened to cause him to land across the room, Felassan takes off her cuffs and leads her out of the cell. She realizes the men she noticed before are not men at all, but shadow figures, almost like holograms. Isera stops and stares at the being before Felassan drags her away, commenting on how that’s most people’s reactions.

“We lost our healer in the last attack, I’m afraid.” He states as he walks into what is healer’s apothecary. He begins rummaging through jars trying to find a burn salve. “I believe this is it.” He hands her the jar.

Isera takes it and looks at it jar with doubt across her face. She shakes the jar, watching the contents slurry around, not convinced that the salve is a burn ointment. She pops open the jar and smells it. The foul smell of rotten flesh fills her nostrils. “This is din’gen'ur, deathroot.” She stares at him her face flat.

Felassan had continued to rummage through the jars, turns back to look at her unconcern by her discovery. “Well, I did say the healer was killed.” He opens the jar and pulls out a twig. “Bark.” He states as he pops it into his mouth. “For the pain.” He tilts the jaw towards her. 

Isera eyes him suspiciously before looking at the bark with skepticism. She takes out a small piece and smells it. Willow. She nods as she pops the twig in her mouth as she begins searching for an ointment for her burn. It takes her a few moments, but she can recognize the smell of feladara, elfroot, in the salve which can be useful for any injury.

“Found it? Let’s go.” Felassan motions for her to follow him. Isera takes the jar with her as he leads her into a hall that is filled with people, some with marking of the vallaslin and others without the markings. They pay no mind to her, but it is clear that they have seen some sort of trauma. Some are wearing dirty, covered clothing with holes and others are staring off into space with blood dried to the hair.

He leads her away from the hall and into a tower. “You will stay here.” He orders her.

Isera stares at him. “Am I a prisoner then?” She asks as she places the jar onto an end table.

He nods. “Yes.” He responds with a smile on his face. Isera sighs as he leaves without another word. She looks around the room, and it is elegant, yet simple. She notices another entry way and walks through it. It leads to a modest bath.

Isera smiles as the scent of lavender fills her nose as she is quick to strip out of her dress that has been torn and stained. She soaks in the hot spring enjoying the heat relaxing her muscles. The oil nearby is glowing. Isera grabs the glass bottle and begins inspecting it. There are only a handful of plants that glow like this in Thedas, but she can’t find any particulars of plant essence in the bottle. 'How is it glowing?" She wonders as she shakes the jar.

She pours some of the oil into her hand and rubs it between her fingers. Nothing—the product continues to glow but does not show signs of particles of plants. It smells wonderful, however. Isera begins massaging the oil into her scalp before ducking her head underwater. She is surprised to see how the glow washes away.

She is quick to finish and change into another set of clothing before exploring the room more.

There isn’t much. High ceilings with tall windows letting in natural light following through the open windows. She wanders to the balcony and realizes that she sits upon the cavern she discovered. All around her is lush green trees and mountain ranges with no other building in sight.

“Wow…” She whispers as she leans against the edge of the banister. This is nothing like home. She fines the view peaceful, and it brings her a sense of calm that she hasn’t experienced since she has awakened in this strange world. 

But she does not want to stay here. She has to find a way home. Isera needs to figure how she can escape this place or return to the mirror somewhere below. The man, Felassan said the last healer died in an attack and the people she walked by looked like refugees. A war? Perhaps she can take advantage of the chaos, escape, and return home.


	3. Chapter 3

Isera is fast asleep behind the curtains of her bed when Felassan returns to get her in the morning to take her down to the hall for breakfast. “Rise and shine,” He hums as he throws open the curtains, letting the bright light flow.

She groans as she ducks her head under a pillow. Isera had been sleeping on the hard ground until she arrived here and she is reluctant to move now. Her lack of quality sleep makes it more difficult to leave the warmth of the bed. The mattress is firm and sheets blissfully soft against her skin making it a delightful place to be.

Isera makes no effort to leave the bed. “Do you want to starve?” Felassan questions as he leans against the bedpost. “If you continue to sleep you will have to wait until lunch to eat.” He hums. Isera grumbles something unintelligible out, and Felassan sighs and waves his hand watching as Isera goes flying out of bed, screaming in surprise and landing on the ground with a hard thump.

Isera swiftly untangles herself from the bedsheets and glares up at Felassan. “What is wrong with you?” She snaps as she stands to her feet. “What did you do?!” She follows up. He is unaffected by her outburst, a smile on his face. He doesn’t answer her as he walks over to the dresser and pulls out a dress for her to wear. “This should fit you. You are short for an elf, though.” He comments as he lays the dress onto the bed. He gives her one last look. “You have five minutes to get ready.” He tells her as he walks out of the room.

Isera throws the pillow at the closed door out of spite. She has never been a morning person, and she hasn’t been forced out of bed since she was in high school.

She begins changing into the dress laid out her mind still groggy from her sleep. Her stomach growls loudly. Isera quickly realizes she hasn’t had a meal since falling through time, and even then she isn’t sure how long ago that was. A day? Two days? More?

Felassan reopens the door without so much a knock. Isera turns and glares at him, yet he continues to grin. “Come on,” He motions for her to follow him.

Isera does follow quietly brooding over her unpleasant wakeup call. As they walk into the hall, the chaos is still ongoing. There seem to be more people than yesterday filling the hall. She can taste the fear and uncertainty in the air, thick like humidity in the late summer but a distinct ting-y taste.

She follows close to Felassan, her eyes scanning the hall listening to the sound of crying children surround her. He leads her into the kitchen and hands her a bowl of porridge. He orders her to wait by the window as the kitchen cook flags him down. Isera listens into the conversation as she takes a bite into the meal.

Isera brings the food to her mouth, listen to how the kitchen is stressed for food resources and forces herself to swallow the blob of bitter and gritty food. She tries her best to suppress her gag reflex as she sets the bowl down. It is clear that the cook is only trying to make sure no one starves completely.

She turns her attention to two cooking assistants as Felassan continues to speak with the lead cook. She watches at the assistants begin sifting through an assortment of recently picked berries. It doesn’t take Isera long to realize that majority of the berries are death root, which can be toxic and induce hallucinations.

Isera steps forward watching as one of the assistants pops a berry into his mouth. “Spit that out,” She demands as she grabs the basket of berries. “It’s toxic.” She simply states as she begins sifting through the basket, pulling out ones that are not safe to eat raw.

“I’m hungry,” the servant states and defiantly consumes the berry. Isera grumbles as she glares at the man. She shakes her head, “drink a lot of water. In about an hour you will start hallucinating.” She informs him as she places the deathroot berries into another bowl. “Boiling them twice and then cooking them into a compote with make them safe to eat. They still will taste bitter.”

Once, when Isera was first beginning her interest in plants, she wandered off the trail and was turned around, and she only had a few supplies with her, and she ended up eating deathroot berries in their raw form and began hallucinating. She found out later about the cooking process.

The man looks up at her in fear. “Hallucinations?” he questions. Isera pauses, realizing the probability of the elven term ‘hallucinations’ did not yet exist. She turns to him. “To…wander in your mind without control? Seeing or feeling things that no one else sees or experience?” She explains, watching his reaction to her words carefully.

“Like blood magic?” The man continues to look at her in terror. Isera slowly blinks. She doesn’t know what blood magic is. “Yes? Maybe?” She squeaks out. “But the feelings are only temporary. And you will be okay once you pass the berries.”

The man appears to relax a little.

Isera continues to shift through the berries her mind drifting to the idea of magic and the theory behind it. She, of course, grew up on her people’s stories of the Gods, magic, and immortal lives, but they were just stories. Magic does not exhibit, and no one lives forever.   
  
She turns to look at Felassan, who is still talking to the cook, seemingly unaware of what has transpired. Isera wanders over to the nearby cupboard to see what the kitchen had in stock. There is barely any food—no wonder her morning meal tasted terrible.

“Do you have the habit of not doing as your told?” Felassan’s voice fills her eyes. Isera turns to look at him with a blank look on her face. “If I wanted to stand around, I’d become a statue.” She retorts as she walks out of the pantry. He snorts as she walks by him.

“Where is the garden?” Isera abruptly asks turning on her heels to look at him. The fact that the pantry is deserted of food and the man eating toxic berries is concerning to her. She had worked tirelessly back home to create urban gardens to help end food hunger across Thedas. Perhaps she can help here.

Felassan looks taken aback by her question for a moment. “And why would you want to see the garden, hm?” He hums out violet eyes staring down at her. Isera’s stare does not break his. “Your people will starve to death before the war is out. I am a botanist. I can see how to improve the soil to increase harvest and allow plants to grow.” She explains crossing her arms over her chest.

Felassan sighs. “I was just going to lock you back into your tower, yet here you are trying to make yourself useful.” He mutters as he begins to walk away motioning for Isera to follow him. She scoffs as she follows after him struggling to understand why he is incredibly lax and uncaring about the situation.

He hums a tune as he leads her into a large, enclosed outdoor space filled with dying plants. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” Isera exclaims as her eyes scan the garden. “No wonder the harvest is shit!” She snaps as she walks into the grass. It is dry and pointy against her bare feet. Lack of water and probably a lack of fertile ground. There were weeds everywhere.

Isera makes her way to inspect what sickly plants there are. Bugs are eating at the plant, and the leaves are turning yellow. “Where is your gardener?” She demands, turning to look back at Felassan.

He doesn’t look at her. “Dead, of course.” He replies without further comment. Isera grunts are quickly deciding if there were to be food to produce she would need to help start the process. “Where are the tools?” She requests as she walks towards him. Felassan turns to look at her with curiosity but silently leads her to the storage closet with the necessary tools.

Isera begins carefully assessing each tool. These are old world tools, yet they will be sufficient for what she needs. She will need to toil the soil and clear the weeds first if she wants anything to grow here and the three-prong rack will be sufficient to complete the task. She grabs the scythe to help clear the weeds as well.

Felassan takes a seat nearby as he continues to watch her.

She ignores his stares as she begins taking the scythe to the weeds and with every swish of the blade her annoyance grows stronger. The man is watching her try to help his people and doesn’t have the decency to help! She takes a deep breath as she continues her way through the garden. She chants in her mind, ‘head down, bite your tongue.’ It will be easier to escape if they do not see her as a threat.

 

 

 

The next morning, Isera wakes up before the dawn and goes to head down to the garden again. The moment she steps foot out the door the spirit guards that she saw standing outside of her jail cell manifest from the air causing her to scream. The guards order her something in high elvish that she misses. Isera stares up at the guards in fear. “I’m just trying to get to the gardens!” She explains, her voice high.

The guards nod and begin leading her out of her room one stationed in front and the other behind her as they walked. Isera wraps her arms around herself as she marches in line with the creatures. They make her nervous.

But they lead her out to the garden and wordlessly stand guard as she begins to rake the soil before the sun starts to rise.

 

 

 

“You have her doing hard labor?” Solas questions Felassan as they stare down from a balcony that overlooked the garden. He is exhausted from the night before, and this is not what he had in mind for his prisoner. Felassan grins as he leans against the banister. “She started working in the garden on her own volition.” He explains.

Solas sighs. His back and shoulders are stiff from the most recent scuffle. “And how do you know she is not manipulating you into trusting her?” He asks.

Felassan shrugs. “I don’t trust her, and she doesn’t trust me. But she seems to know what she is doing. If you plan on killing her, might as well as use her skill until that time comes.” He explains. The woman has been toiling the soil before sunrise, and it is almost noon. “The people are starving.” He adds.

“She’s a tool to be used.” Solas paraphrase the explanation given by Felassan.

“Quite so.” Felessan nods. He watches as Solas turns to leave the balcony without another word. He is surprised when a few moments later Solas appears in the garden and sits down on a nearby bench and watches the woman continue to work the earth.

The woman pauses for a moment realizing she has company and stares at him. But Felessan is unable to see or hear if words are produced. After a moment, the woman begins working again without glancing at Solas, but he does not move from his spot either.

“What are you doing, Solas?” Felassan wonders out loud as he leans further closer to the banister watching the two with interest. “Why are you sitting there?” He hums. Only the sound of the gentle breeze fills his ears as he begins humming another tune and walking off the balcony. 


	4. Chapter 4

Isera is sitting outside on the balcony attached to her bedroom silently watching the sunset. It has been nearly two weeks since she has been here and she is no closer to trying to find her way back home. Most of her time had been spent trying to bring life back into the sorry plot of land. She had been fortunate in savaging for seeds allowing her the ability to plant something, and she had been nursing the sickly plants back into health.

The man who wanted to kill her, Solas, watched her the second day she had been working the soil. She asked him if he wanted anything and he responded no, then continued to keep an eye on her while he sat on a bench. Isera doesn’t understand why he did such a thing, but she wonders if it had been an attempt to intimidate her.

She hasn’t seen him since.

Felassan, on the other hand, is always hovering. He will disappear for a few hours only to return with a cocky smirk and no comment on where he had gone. He always had a sarcastic comment for her. Felassan isn’t bad company, but he stares at her for too long, and it makes her uncomfortable.

As the sun sets behind the distant mountains, Isera stands and walks out of her room. The spirit guards appear in front of her, as always, and demand to know where she is going. “I would like to go to the library, please,” Isera cooly responds. She had been adjusting to the sudden materialization of the ghosts. A few days ago she tried to touch them out of curiosity, and they responded negatively to it.

The spirit guards guide Isera to the room the library. The room is rarely used after sunset. Thus Isera is alone to her thoughts, minus the hidden guards who disappear once she is safely in the chamber. She is determined to find out more about magic and exactly what it is. 

Isera quietly walks along the tall bookcases as she scans the titles on the bind of the books. It takes her longer to understand the elvish written. Modern age elvish, as it turns out, is similar to ancient elvish, but this is due to the Keepers of the clans only training a select few to keep the language alive. Most Dalish know certain terms and phrases, but reading and writing are almost exclusively related to the Keepers and their charges.

Isera is lucky. Her mother broke the rules and taught her the elvish known by the Keepers. But she was taught during high school, and once Isera started college, the focus of her studies was in King’s tongue. Most elvish textbooks are either with the Dalish or being held in museums to “educate” other races about the elven culture.

It’s what happens when your people lose a war. The winner not only slashes your culture, trying to burn away your books, condemn your religion, silence the language spoke, yet steals away your history and present it to others. The humans say the elvish are uncultured and savage for being Dalish, the first people of Thedas. The Dalish, the ancient elvhen were cultured. But the humans want people to forget that. It eases the conscience for those unaffected and is an attempt to silence the People and justify the wars and theft against her people.

Isera stops at a book that reads ‘The Theory of Magic’ and pulls it from the shelf. She opens the book and begins flipping through the first few pages. The book begins with a short explanation of controlling magic but does not explain what magic is. She continues to scan the pages and quickly realizes the book speaks to multiple types of magic, such as blood magic, healing magic, force magic, and so on. Yet, not one explanation of what magic is and how it works. 

Isera sighs, shutting the book with a loud thump. She continues on her way book still in hand as she scans the books on the shelves again. Isera recalls the Keepers saying magic was a part of being elven, just like breathing is a part of being alive. But there is research on how breathing works and how it allows one to be alive. There has to be research about magic. There just has to be.

She is pulled from her thoughts by a loud chiming noise further back in the library. Isera pulls back and looks at the sound of yelling echoing in the chamber. She jogs to the side and away from the walkways to hide.

“Solas, you need to stop inciting them.” The loud and feminine voice commands. Isera can hear a chuckle. “They were insulting you,” he coughs back.

“And now you have a head injury.” She retorts.

Isera peaks through the bookcases and sees the glittering armor she is had become familiar with and the shine of fresh blood. Isera watches as the woman in similar armor begins tending to Solas’s wound on his forehead too scared and curious to try and sneak out of the library.

“If healed properly, there will be a small scar above your eyebrow, little wolf.” The woman tells him as she casts a spell. Isera quietly gasps as she watches as the woman’s hand glows a brilliant white and hovering it over his face.

“I’ve healed as much as I can.” The woman informed Solas. “I heard from Felassan you have found a new healer? Perhaps he can assist with an ointment to encourage the rest of the healing.” Solas looks up at the woman in confusion. “We do not have a healer. We found a trespasser, and she has knowledge of using plants for healing,” he answers his voice terse.

The woman hums. “Oh? Is it the same trespasser who has been watching us since we walked through the eluvian?” The woman speaks louder, turning her head to look in Isera’s general direction. “Come out, dear,” the woman calls out.

Isera stands frozen and Solas’s head jerks and scans between the books to look for her. When Isera doesn’t make her way to them the woman calls out once more, her voice harsher than before. The tone makes Isera reluctantly step out of the shadows and walks down the corridor towards them gripping the book in one hand in fear. 

Her mind is racing thinking that she is going to be killed on the spot. Solas had wanted her dead since she arrived what is stopping him from doing it now. She is caught spying on them. She hadn’t been trying to spy on them—she just wanted to research magic.

Isera bites the edge of her tongue as she stops in front of Solas and the woman. The woman begins circling her as though Isera is a small animal. “She is short for an elf; don’t you think?” The woman questions out loud her eyes glancing at Solas.

“What is your name, child?” the woman demands. 

Isera does not answer. She only stares at the woman who stands a head taller than her. “Does she speak, Solas or is she defiant?” The woman asks when Isera does not answer. Solas stands to his feet. “She can speak. She is defiant.” He responds.

The woman hums. “What is her name then?” She asks of him. Solas pauses realizing that he never found out her name. “I do not know, Mythal.” He answers his face neutral. 

Isera jerks her head back at the name. ‘The goddess? From the legends?’ She thinks. Mythal huffs. “You have lost your manners, Dread Wolf, since the start of this war.” She tuts him golden eyes glaring at him. Isera jerks to looking up at the man she has known as Solas for the last week in shock and fear. The Dread Wolf from the story, who locked away the gods for the laughs? Who damned the elves and silenced the gods?

“She seems to know our names.” Mythal turns her attention back to Isera with a small grin. “Now, tell us yours.” She demands. Isera stands before the two who are dressed in golden armor trying to hide her fear from them. “Isera,” she answers refusing to look at either of them.

Mythal hums glancing at Solas. “She doesn’t hold herself as a slave. No vallaslin, and,” she points to the book, “she can read.” Mythal turns to look back at her. “Which does bring the curious question of who are you?” she asks.

Isera keeps her gaze forward. “No one.” She quietly responds.

Mythal hums in curiosity. “Yet you are here.” She announces. Isera shakes her head at the words. “I am a prisoner,” she responds. Isera’s mind is rushing heartbeat racing. Once when Isera was twenty, she was pulled over for speeding, and she couldn’t stop shaking when the officer approached her and asked her for her information. She does not want to tell them she is from the future—they would kill her. Even now, Isera struggles to believe time travel exists, so why would they? 

“Prisoner, you say?” Mythal responds with a grin. “I see no cuffs on your wrists, child. You are here in the library in secret.” Mythal takes a seat, her eyes still fixated on Isera. 

Isera frowns. “I asked the spirit guards to take me here. It’s quieter after sunset.” She answers quietly.

Mythal leans forward, reading the book still in Isera’s hand. “The Theory of Magic?” She reads out loud and looks at Isera her eyes dancing with interest. Mythal continues to stare at Isera when she does not say anything. 

Isera sighs, pulling the book to her chest. “I wanted to understand how magic works. I came here to find books about it.” She feels like a petulant child caught in the act of wrongdoing. Mythal motions for Isera to hand over the text.

Isera places the book into the woman’s hands, and she quietly watches as Mythal begins flipping through the pages. “Did you not learn the basics of magic growing up?” Mythal inquires as she passes the book to Solas who repeats the process of looking for the book.

“No.” Isera answers.

Mythal nods and hums in understanding. “How odd. Not a slave and neither a noble. Something old thrives within you—I wonder what it is.” She tilts her head to briefly looks at Solas. “You sense it, don’t you?” She asks.

He slams the book shut and stares at Isera his face void of any emotions. “Perhaps.” He curtly answers. Mythal chuckles as she turns to stare at him. “Be a dear and escort your prisoner to the apothecary. Maybe she will stop the bleeding.” She orders Isera. Isera finds the teasing tone of the words confusing but says nothing more.

Solas, the Dread Wolf, the God of Rebellion and Tricksters, does not provide further comment on the order. He obeys and walks past her and motions for Isera to follow him. Isera gives Mythal one last look before silently following him.

 

 

 

 

Solas is leaning against the wall watching as Isera shifts through the jars containing ointments and salves. She hasn’t been down here since Felassan escorted her here. She doesn’t know what most of this stuff is. Finally, she turns to Solas. “Did the previous healer keep a ledger of what the jars are?” She asks. 

“Perhaps. I did not speak to the previous healer often.” Solas states. He looks bored. Isera sighs as continues to search.

Solas moves and stands at the center table. “Are you a hedge-mage?” He asks her. She turns to look at him. She doesn’t know what the word hedge-mage means, but from the tone of his voice that is laced with disdain, it doesn’t sound good.

Isera pauses watching him continue to stare at her and trying to intimidate her. “I don’t know what that is,” She finally admits and turns her back to continue to search. “If magic can heal, why can’t it fully heal a tiny cut on your forehead?” She asks him as she grabs a jar full of white powder and smells it. Isera thinks this powder is from the plant of yarrow which is good to stop bleeding.

Solas rests his hand on the table and leans in. “It is surprising that you have managed to live to adulthood with a complete lack of understanding of magic and barely a novice ability to perform such acts,” He announces. “If we rely heavily on magic to heal us, the body will become dependent and weak. That is why.” Isera stares at the jar in her hand processing what Solas said her back facing him. His tone had been incredibly condescending towards her. He is trying to insult her for her lack of understanding of magic.

Isera begins nodding her head as she grabs two other jars full of powder. She remembers this one from Felassan when he tried to advise her on her burn. After smelling the powder, the other one has the faint scent of fungi which Isera is assuming has trace amounts of toxins it in. If the fungi is a deep mushroom, it could still be toxic when it enters the bloodstream.

She turns towards the table and places the three jars on top. Isera stares Solas and refuses to look away despite her discomfort. She refused to allow him to make her feel incompetent. “Pick one.” She tells him as she motions to the jars in front of her. His eyes narrow at the challenge.

“All three stop bleeding?” He asks.

Isera shrugs, eyes still piercing his. “I don’t know, do they?” She taunts him her face neutral unwilling to tell him which jar is filled with yarrow. He looks less than amused. He grabs the jar of powders deathroot berries.

Isera grabs his hand, which is still resting on top of the jar forcing him to stop moving his hand away. “That is dried deathroot berries. The moment the powder is absorbed into your bloodstream, you would quickly develop a fever and start hallucinating within five minutes. Your blood will thin due to the toxins.” Isera pauses taking a breath. “It is surprising that you have managed to live to adulthood with a complete lack of understanding of herbs and their healing abilities.” She mocks him with the very words he tried to use on her.

His eyes widen ever so slightly. If Isera weren't paying attention, she would have missed it. 

She lets go of his hand and pushes the correct jar forward. “This is the jar you want. Plant of yarrow. A small dab on your forehead will stop the bleeding.” She curtly states and takes a step back. “Have a good night, _Fen’harel_.” The words a bitter and slick off of her tongue as she walks out of the chamber without another word.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Isera slams the door to her room shut out of anger. She is used to having to fight an upward battle to prove that she genuinely knows what she is doing and that she is intelligent. When she first started studying plants, there were always snide comments, “Oh you are studying plants? Of course, you are, you are an elf!” When she was hired for her first teaching job, she had to prove she was smart and not just ‘smart for an elf.’

She had danced with the subject of her race for years, but it stung more coming from another elf. Not just any elf—an elf from a past where elves had status. He said the words with a level of exceptionally callousness and calmness that it almost took her by surprise. Isera shakes her head, refusing to allow the self-hatred that she developed over the year to resurface. 

And, to add insult to injury, the man is known as Fen’harel the God who, according to legend damned the elven race by sealing away the Gods. Why should it surprise her that he of all people would insult her? Legend says he bears no love for the elven people.

Isera throws herself onto the bed, her mind racing with ideas of how to escape this place and return home with more desire than ever.

 

 

 

Isera is surprised that she doesn’t have her usual wakeup call from Felassan. She stares around the room, the light flowing through the curtains on the windows. Isera climbs off the bed as she silently walks across the room in slight confusion. On the table in the center of the room is a small stack of books and one reads, ‘The History of Magic.’ 

Isera frowns and her eyes narrow as she carefully picks up the book with suspicion. Half of her expects the book to jump out at her but nothing happens. She quickly flips through the pages. Inside the text contains the theory of how magic began and much, much more.

She shuts the book as she sucks her teeth in annoyance as she slams the book shut. Did Solas leave these here because he felt regretful about what he said to her? Isera rolls her eyes as she changes into her day clothing and heads out into the garden. ‘Don’t fall for the tricks of kindness—he is the Dread Wolf.’ She whispers in her mind. The legend of the Dread Wolf is known by all elves, even those in the city and unaffiliated with the clans. Isera also wonders if this is a game to him. Insulting her only to leave the very books she needs at her finger tips. 

Isera is surprised when she walks out to the garden to see a handful of men and woman standing nearby. One man approaches her as the group looks onward. “Excuse me, my lady,” He begins, head slightly bowed out of respect. “We have been watching you work the soil—we are grateful that Fen’harel has saved us and we do not want to be burdened. Some of us use to harvest, and seed plants and humbly offer to assist.”

She stares at him for a moment focusing on only one part of the statement—Fen’harel saved them? “What do you mean Fen’harel saved you? From what?” Isera asks. The man looks at her with surprise. “Surely, you know my lady? That is why you have come? To help us!” The man speaks as he straightens. “The war between the Gods—the false Gods. Fen’harel freed us. We were once slaves, forced to fight or be sacrificed.” 

Isera continues to stare at the man in confusion. She had been taught that Fen’harel sealed away the Gods, thus bringing doom to the elves, not that he was a savior to them. Never had she heard that the elves had enslaved their people. “You were a slave?” She asks her hand touching her stomach. She can feel her anxiety rising at the thought that her people were no better than Tevinter.

The man nods. “No longer, my lady. But we will not be idle. We are free, and we choose to help.”

It takes Isera a moment to process what the man said to her, but she nods. “Yes, of course.” She whispers. “If you would like to help, I would accept the offer.” The man smiles and motions for the people behind him to begin working.

Isera doesn’t move as she watches the people begin helping the garden and toiling more soil. Part of her is in shock at the news. ‘The Dalish couldn’t be wrong.’ She thinks as she continues to stand. ‘We were free, before Tevinter. Tevinter enslaved us. We didn’t enslave each other.’ She rambles on in her mind. Yet, these people are real, and they are telling that they weren’t free at all. That her Gods aren’t real. 

She has never been one for religion, in part to being raised away from the Dalish Clans and being raised in Rivain. Isera rarely prayed to the Gods, yet the Gods have been a part of her culture. If the pantheon are not gods, who are they?

“Surprise, surprise,” the familiar voice of Felassan approaches from behind. “I see you managed some help.” Isera turns to face him. “They offered.” She responds without a second thought.

“They are a superstitious group. You didn’t die from toiling the soil. They must believe you have healed the scourge from the land.” Felassan states as he leads against a post and looks towards the people. Isera stares at him in confusion.

“What?” She says her voice is raising slightly. “The land was cursed?”

Felassan turns to look back at her. “Of course it was. That is why nothing was growing. Andruil sent her warriors for an attack and used magic to poison the land.” He explains a grin forming on his face.

Isera scowls, her eyes narrowing towards him and teeth bared. “And you knew this? I could have been poisoned?” She shrieks her hands are balled into a fist, and she stares down Felassan. Flashes of memory cross her mind as she realizes that the plants and berries were different from the ones she sorted in the kitchen. “I could have died!”

“But you didn’t.” Felassan hums with an annoying level of cheerfulness, a grin on his face and mischief in his violet eyes. Isera releases a frustrated howl as she storms past him. She turns to glare at him as he jogs to catch up to her. “My, you have a temper!” He tells her the grin still on his face. “Your face turns a lovely shade of red!”

Isera scoffs coming to a halt and glaring at him. “Oh, no,” She snarls. “My face turns red because I am angry—it’s not lovely. You knowingly let me walk into blighted land! You have no concern for my wellbeing, and you don’t get to be condescending to me by telling me by “temper” is “lovely.” She shouts at him, one hand resting on her hip the other pointing accusingly at him. “You and Solas—Fen’harel, whatever he wants to be called, are assholes.” She mutters as she walks away. 

Before Isera can continue to think about how much Felassan annoys her, he walks up next to her and orders her to follow him. His voice is harder and less whimsical than before and sends a chill down her spine. She does not want to follow him, but her instinct is telling her to do as he says and so she does. 

He leads her down multiple vestibules and stops in front of an elegant door. “Wait here,” he orders once more without glancing at her as he steps into the room.

Isera sighs and rolls her eyes as she waits outside of the slightly jarred door. She can hear Felassan’s voice on the other side, and she steps somewhat to peak through the opening. The chamber is filled with light, but even Isera can sense the dread coming from inside. She backs away from the door when she recognizes the silhouette of none other than Fen’harel.

She shakes her head as she leans against the wall a few feet from the door. She needs to figure out how to get home. She has put too much time into trying to help the people of the past.

Felassan emerges moments later and looks around for her. When he spots her, he walks past and motions for her to follow him. He leads her down another vestibule and into a chamber where the walls and ceiling are glass letting the light flow into the room filled to the brim with plants.

“A botanic garden…” Isera murmurs, her guard dropping as she walks into the room the smell of clean, sweet and fresh air filling her lungs. 

Felassan coughs from behind. “You have been permitted to work in here in addition to the field.” He informs her and leaves the room. Isera watches as he leaves the door wide open before she turns and begins walking the garden. She can hear the sound of running water near the back, and she sees a waterfall flowing into the pool filled with blood and black lotus. 

Isera walks back to the front and sits down at a desk she saw earlier and begins flipping through the journal of the botanist before her. He left detailed notes and drawings of each plant he cared for. She can’t help but feel excited. This room is everything she has dreamed of. A room full of thriving plants!

 

 

 

The familiar voice of Fen’harel causes Isera to fall off the chair she is sitting on. She had been deep in thought and reading the journal. She snaps her head to look at him. He is dressed in simple cloth and not the golden armor she has seen him in the times before. Her eyes narrow as she watches him suspiciously.

The room is being lit by magic, and it is late into the night.

“My apologies.” He says, his head bowing slightly, “I did not mean to startle you.” His words are soft and his arms are resting at his sides. Non-threatening. “I see Felassan disobeyed orders.” He murmurs as he looks around the room.

Isera doesn’t say anything as she continues to watch him. He looks exhausted. The soft shade of dark circles under his eyes are more prominent than ever, and his shoulders are rounded. She softly closes the book and stands. “I can leave.” She announces and begins walking out of the room. 

Fen’harel raises his arm, blocking her from exiting and shakes his head. “That will not be necessary.” He states, tilting his head to look at her. Isera pauses her eyes flickering up towards him. “It is late,” she whispers and turns her attention towards the door. She is unsure of what to say to him. She is still annoyed with him from the night before. He hasn’t even apologized.  

He drops his arm. “Then, good night.” He murmurs as he walks away from her and deeper into the atrium. Isera nods and heads back to her room without glancing back.


	6. Chapter 6

Isera hadn’t seen Felassan in weeks since she confronted his behavior with her. It is easy for Isera split her time between studying the theory of magic, working in the atrium, and tending the fields with the help of the former slaves.

Isera would see Solas now and then. He would walk by the open atrium door a small fleet of advisors trailing him. She is only able to catch a few things in the high elvish he speaks, but she is beginning to understand her language better. She quickly learned that the elven language spoken in modern Thedas is more closely related to the low-language spoken by the now free men and women. 

She has been able to develop a sense to when the spirit guards were present and when they were not. Isera isn’t sure why she can sense when they are around and when they are gone. But it has made it easier for her to sneak around. Every day she would explore a little farther than before, slowly making her way further from the Great Hall. 

She would walk with a book in hand and quill between her finger as though she knew where she was going and what she was doing. In reality, she didn’t know. She didn’t know if she is in the same place that she woke up or if she was taken to a different area.

But she had to try.

However, today, something is causing the former slaves to stir with anxiety. Isera chose to spend her time reading and studying the atrium until whatever has passed. The refuges heard more than she has about the war and most are nervous to talk to her. She overheard someone whispering something about her “being one of them.”  Isera doesn’t know what that meant.

She is more confused than anything about this strange world and finds solace in the atrium on most days.

Isera is standing in thigh deep water surrounded by blood lotus. The bottom of her skirt is tied up as far as it can go without considering being indecent. At her hip is a small basket that is tied around her waist as she collected the plants.

“We are running low on toxins to dip the arrowheads in, Dread Wolf.”

“I am aware, Abelas.”

Isera freezes, petals between her fingers and bent over examining the plant when the voices echo in the atrium. She can hear the clanking of armor heading towards her. She turns her head to face them as Solas and the man called Abelas walk up to her.

Isera stands straight as she glances between the two men. It is barely noticeable, but Solas looks almost annoyed—eyes slightly narrowed given a sideways glance to the elven man next to him with lips only pulled somewhat together and shoulders pulled back.

No one speaks. Solas is staring at Abelas and Abelas is staring at her.

Isera shifts in the water, digging her toes into the dirt below. “Yes?” she states in the form of a question unsure of why they are here. Abelas takes a moment to glare at Solas before turning his attention back to her. “I have been informed you have replaced the late healer. Our supplies of toxins have dwindled and required more.”

She nods slowly as she looks up at the man with the vallaslin of Mythal upon his face. “Toxins? What sort toxins? Ones to induce vivid vision?” Isera asks knowing very well the man meant otherwise.

Abelas looks at her with displeasure seeing through her tactic. “To incapacitate.” He answers.

Isera nods as she wades through the water to the edge. “You mean to kill,” She responses as she climbs out of the pool. “Might as well say what you mean.” She retorts as she dries off her legs unknotting her dress and letting it fall to the floor, covering her legs. 

“I won’t help you kill people,” She continues before Abelas can say anything.

Abelas blankly stares at her seemingly unaffected by her words. “You won’t?” He states, his voice low as he glares down at her before turning his gaze back to Solas. “I suggest you find a way to…courage her. Mythal will not be pleased.” His words are hard and intimidating as he turns on his heels and walks out of the room. 

Isera refuses to look at Solas. “I won’t do it,” She mutters. “I won’t make something that will kill people.” The idea that people would use her skills to hurt is not something that sits well with Isera. That those deaths would be on her soul because she assisted in the killings. 

He nods glancing around the room. “So you would condemn hundreds of thousands of innocents to be killed?” His voice is low, but she can hear the undertone of anger and agitation behind the calmness. Isera does not answer.

Solas closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. “Abelas has little patience sympathizers.” He pauses, opening his eyes once more. “As do I.” His voice is hard and he moves to stand in front of her. “You seem to lack a basic understanding the events that have happened. Do you truly not know? Where are you from?” He questions as he steps closer to her. 

Isera inhales sharply but does not move from her spot. “I was raised in a small coastal village with little contact with the outsiders.” She answers. Only a partial lie. She _was_ raised in a village on the coast of Rivain and had little contact with outsiders, only this happened many centuries into the future.

“A village called what?” He presses. He is practically standing over her, but Isera refuses to budge.

“A name non-existent for someone as important as you.” Isera answers keeping her gaze fixed on his chest as he steps closer to her. She feels the fear eating at her—her palms are clammy and sweaty, and she is quietly trying to figure out how to leave the room without causing more suspicion.

“Come,” he orders as he grabs her by her arm and pulls her along. Isera resists at first. “No! Where are we going?” She demands her fingers are pressing into his armor.

“I am going to show you.”


	7. Chapter 7

He walks with her through a small village. “Things were not always as they are.” Solas tells her as they walk down the path, villagers on either side with smiles upon their faces chattering away. “There was a time of peace between the People of the Fade and the People of the Stone.” He walks and points to an elf and a dwarf exchanging wares. “For centuries, upon centuries the elves and dwarves worked together.”

“People of the Fade? Do you mean the elven people? Shouldn’t it be People of the Forest?” Isera asks. She had heard of the term ‘People of Stone’ refer to dwarves for as long as she remembered. Isera is no expert of Dwarven history, but she knows that many dwarves live underground and thrive with working the earth.

Elves have been known as People of the Forest since the Fall of the Dales when thousands of elves fled to the forest to escape persecution. But Isera had assumed this term has always been there and became more prominent during this time. Solas chuckles and shakes his head glancing down at her. “Forest? Why would we be called such odd things? We are not born out of the forest, but the magic within the Fade. Just as dwarves are born from the blood of the Titans.” He leads her down and through the forest. 

Isera questions in her mind what he means by the words ‘Fade’ and Titans’ but is worried if she asks too many questions that he would soon realizes that she is not from this world at all.


	8. Chapter 8

He leads her down into a cave. “But with all living things, the desire to become stronger and powerful lead the desire for conquest.” He explains as they walk through what appears to be a burial ground for elves.

“The very thing that helps the dwarves also improves our magic and ability to interact with the Fade.” Solas whispers as he stops in front of a dead elf. “It helps us cast our spells and even helps to go into the Deep Sleep.”

‘Wait.’ Isera thinks as she stares down at the woman in simple, yet elegant gown who is _breathing._

“We are immortal, yet immortal lives do not always breed a desire to continue to live. Thus, we found a way to sleep forever, uthenera, to allow the next generation continue to build the elven empire.” He tells her. “We use the blood of the Titans to allow us to be put to sleep.”

Isera stares down at the woman before her. “She isn’t dead…” Isera whispers in confusion and awe.

“No, not in this moment.” Solas says, “none of them are.” He watches Isera carefully as she continues to stare down at the woman before them.

‘How is this even possible?’ Isera thinks to herself as she reaches out to touch the woman but stops inches before the skin. The stories she has heard said that elves were immortal and that elders would go into the Deep Sleep after centuries of living…but that was just a story. There is no thing as immortality.

“How long has she been here?” Isera asks turning to look up at him.

He shrugs, “At this time, most likely two millennials.” He answers. Isera glances down at the woman. “And how old was she before she went into uthenera?” she asks.

Solas hums. “I recall that she was approximately six thousand years of age when she desired to go into uthenera.”

Isera gasps. The woman looks barely older than 25!


	9. Chapter 9

Solas leads her out cave into a field watches as dwarves and elven men and woman began clashing. “Control.” He mutters as he walks along the edge of the field. “Both people wanted to control the other.” 

Isera trails after him her head turned and watching the battle before her. “It started off a small scuffles along the highways. But soon it became larger—attacks on small villages, then towns followed by the cities. People prayed for simplicity.” The words are smooth off his tongue.

He leads her into a city. Isera watches on in horror as helpless elves are slaughtered by the dwarves and their creation—golems. Even she recognizes the design of the old dwarven creation—she had seen many in museums.

“We fought back, of course, and those who were successful were greatly rewarded after pushing back the dwarves. Respected generals became gods. The transition was simple enough.” He explains and walks into a temple. “Yet, slow that almost no one realized the mistake made.” 

“The People needed to rebuild and who best to do that than those who helped fight against the invaders. And the People worshipped them,” Solas motions to the kneeling of elves who are whispering prayers in the candle light that surround them. “They showed their gratitude by marking their face—the first of the vallaslin.”  

He leads her down another hall. “Slowly, but surely, they became Gods.” He tells her and pauses. “But with power breeds control and need for strength and devotion.” He walks her into a dark room filled with naked elven marked with the vallaslin of Andruil. They cower before the guards.

“Blood magic…” The words are bitter on his lips. “For it was a tool before, mostly used by healers to heal what would be fatal injuries. It became a blight on the People and the would-be gods.”

He leads her up the steps to where a man covered in blood stands before the masses with a grin on his face and sword in one hand. “You want to show your love to the Goddess Andruil? Then give the ultimate sacrifice! Your life to ensure that you will be remembered within the Beyond!” the bloodedly man shouts. “Who will be the first to show their love for Andruil?” The question echoes in the chamber.

Isera turns to Solas. “He doesn’t mean—he can’t!” She shouts as she watches as a naked elven man stands and proudly walks to the executioner.

“Stop him!” Isera screams as she pushes Solas. “He can’t kill him! It’s murder!” She shouts. Solas stares at the scene before him with a blank face unresponsive to Isera’s begging and pulling at his arms.

When Solas doesn’t move Isera rushes forward placing herself between the executioner and the man. “Stop!” She shouts as she raises her hand. She screams as she watches the blade come down upon her.

She hears the blade cut through…the man. Isera pulls back in horror watching as the man’s headless body falls forward and _through_ hers.


	10. Chapter 10

Isera jumps awake, head spinning and breathless as she rolls onto her knees. She presses her hand against her abdomen, the reality of being awake slowing coming to realization. ‘It felt real,’ she thinks, the voice inside her head shaking at the statement. Isera looks around the room with no memory of how she arrived. She feels cold as she replays the memory of the beheading as though it was a film. With shaking knees, she stands and slowly makes her way towards the door, the knots in her stomach only becoming stronger. Isera slows her breathing as she focuses on the place next to the closed door. She feels the sweat forming on her skin and she drops to her knees and throws up into the pot of the plant. 

Isera presses her forehead onto the cool tile, her mind racing with fear. ‘This isn’t real. This isn’t real.’ She thinks to herself as she takes deep breaths. Her first instinct is to ignore the dream. It couldn’t be real. Her second instinct is to rush to find Fen’harel, Solas, whatever his name is and to confront him. Her third instinct is to rush to the library and find more information about the history. 

Isera opens her eyes and release a breath she had been holding. Library. She pulls herself off the floor and opens the door, the spirit guards manifesting with ease. “I would like to go to the library, please,” she requests, her voice below a whisper. The guards nod and begin leading her to the library. 

She keeps her eyes cast down as she walks behind one of the guards. The denial of the vision, of the dream is eating at her. Her hands press against the side of her thighs as she walks trying to wipe away the sweat. Isera keeps trying to think of other ideas that could have happened. ‘The humans were the cause of our destruction. Not ourselves. We wouldn’t have forgotten that. Out of all of our legends, our magic, our immortality…’ She is practically screaming in her mind as the guard opens the door. 

Isera walks through the doors and stares ahead, realizing there is a circle of young elven children surrounding an adult. She can hear the story being told echoing in the chamber. Without a word, Isera makes her way towards the group and leans again one of the bookcases watching and listening. The elder is telling the story of how the elves became divided. 

The tale is simple and age appropriate. The divide between the People of the Stone and the People of the Fade, that lead to wanting to be protected. The rise of the would-be Gods and the divide amongst the people. That the children were free because of their parents. And even though they suffered a great loss, they are One with the People and are never alone. 

Isera tilts her head ever so slightly. The words echo in her mind ‘free because of their parents.’ Orphans. Isera sighs and presses the side of her face into the bookcase. “We’ve forgotten so much,” the words are below a whisper, but the pain and sorrow in her voice is loud. 

The gently tug of the silk dress pulling at her side brings Isera back into reality. She looks down as sees large green eyes filled with sparks and curiosity staring back at her. “Hello?” Isera whispers. The child blinks, eyebrows drawing together and a frown forming on her face. “You are here to help us?” the soft, high pitched voice questions. “That’s why you are here?” the girl continues. 

Isera lowers herself to her knees but doesn’t say anything. She continues to stare at the child who has burn marks across her face and down her neck that dip under her shirt. “You left the order? To help?” The child continued.  
“The order?” Isera questions, her voice still low to not attract any attention. The girl tilts her head. “The is-a-th-thing.” 

Isera stares at the girl, her face blank, unsure of what the word the child is searching for. The hahren calls to the child as he approaches. “The word you search for is i've'an'amelan, pronounce it with me,” he beckons with a smile on his face as he takes a knee. The girl smiles shyly as she begins to pronounce the word, awkwardly emphasizing the wrong pieces of the word. 

The elder laughs, patting the girl on the head. “Close, my child. We will work on it.” He pulls his hand back, “now, be off. Go eat.” He orders her. The girl smiles a toothy grin before running off. He stands and stares down at Isera who has yet to get up. 

“Well,” he hums, “are you?” he asks.

Isera stares up at him. She can feel her heart pounding in her ears. “What?” she tries to keep her voice level as she brings herself to her feet. “You are one of them, are you not? I sense your magic is blocked. Is that how you escaped?” He continues to ask.

“Is that why I can’t do magic?” She asks, picking her words carefully. “…anymore?” She adds after a pause. 

The elder shrugs as he motions for her to follow him. “That is only a guess. I sense a power suppressed within you that wants to wake up. How did you stay hidden for so long? The i've'an'amelan were the first to be killed in the beginning. I heard some ran away and are still in hiding.” 

When Isera doesn’t answer, he continues. “Did they send you to give us hope?” 

Isera looks away. She doesn’t follow what he is saying. “How long has the war being going on?” She asks. The elder her looks at her with confusion. “You do look younger than the rest. Were you born at the start of the war? It has been, well, over three thousand years.” The elder begins putting books back onto the shelf. 

“I don’t-- remember a time without it,” Isera hesitates for a moment with her lie. “You said that a power is waiting to wake up in me?” She questions. The elder nods. “Have you tried calling out to it?” He questions. Isera shakes her head no. “I don’t even know where to start,” she murmurs.

The elder frowns. “It is disappointing to see someone so young impacted by these troubled times. I’m sorry we have failed the next generation. Come, I will tell you the stories to reconnect to your magic, child. I will do my part so the next generation will remember.” Isera suppresses a cynical laugh that wants to flow from her lips. 

She listens without saying a word as the elder begins explaining how one who is blocked can reconnect with the power within them--reconnect with the spirits of the Fade, the ancestors who are in their deep slumber. 

Isera walks away after the elder dismisses himself. She opts not to eat lunch and rushes back to her room deep in thought. The elder had explained that reconnecting to the part of herself that she supposed to mediate and connect with her inner self.

She had tried mediating when she was a teenager, mostly at her mother’s begging. Isera was an angry teenager. And here she is considering trying to connect with something she doesn’t believe in. But what if it was? Didn’t someone once say that magic is just science we don’t understand?

Isera crawls into the bed and pulls the blanket up to her chase and nestles into the pillow as she attempts to calm her mind. She tries to silence the world around her and only focus on finding the spark that is being suppressed within her. After a few minutes, Isera is feeling restless as she continues to try to mediate. More time has passed and nothing happens. 

She sighs with frustration, a guttural sound rising from her lips as her eyes flutter open. Nothing. Isera kicks the blankets off of her and paces around the room. Patience has never been her virtue. Finally, Isera walks into the bathroom and begins stripping. She wades into the warm water as she tries to shake off the annoyance. Water always calmed her. She was raised by the ocean. Water made her feel connected to nature and the world. 

Isera calms her breathing again allowing the water lift her body. It’s easier for her body to relax. 

 

.  
.  
.

 

Home. The northern coast of Rivain had always been home. Isera missed the old way of life, before moving down south. The people of Rivain had been more tolerant than any other. Yet, even in the modern age, the people balanced the ways of old and ways of the new. It was still a matriarchal society. Isera’s own mother still practiced the way of old. The idea that magic existed long before Isera went to school. 

But science began ruling her life and Isera dismissed the old ways. 

It was nice to be home. It feels like it has been ages since she had been here. 

Isera begins walking the coast. She missed the warm, humid days on the beach when she would dig for shells and bring them to the Seerers as gifts. Isera never had issues here. Only once was she ever threatened. Tevinter Magisters had come down to purchase ocean-side properties and Isera ignored the requests of the Seerers to stay away from the beach. 

Suddenly, the calm and serenity that Isera had been feeling turns into despair. The ocean water, once mirror calm begin to churn with anger as dark, heavy clouds begin to fill the once clear sky. The wind begins to blow kicking up the sand into Isera’s eyes. A quiet wailing begins to grow as Isera sees through the sand of dark figures beginning to approach.   
“Ah, there she is,” one of the dark shadows calls. 

Isera watches as the one with the violet eyes grin at the one with blue-gray ones. Isera pushes the hair out of her eyes trying to recall where she met them from. The one with long, brown dreadlocks rushes forward, his arm reaching out to touch her. Isera feels frozen in place as the palm of his hand collide with her forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
